


Her With Those Green Eyes.

by LachrymoseLake



Series: Green Eyes. [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Wolves, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Heda Lexa, Human Clarke Griffin, Mates, Napping, No Plot/Plotless, Sleeping Under The Stars, Soft!Lexa, Werewolf Lexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-02-16 09:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18688318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LachrymoseLake/pseuds/LachrymoseLake
Summary: Given little choice but to follow the great Heda wolf, Clarke finds herself in a secluded meadow where a different side of Heda is revealed.With the sun high, the ground soft, Clarke can't quite help but succumb to sleep. Despite the wolf laying only a foot in front of her.





	1. Her With Those Green Eyes.

   In the unconcerned glow of the midmorning light, surrounded by distant birdsong and sprawled in a pleasantly warmed clearing, blades of glass well-watered and soft, it was awfully hard to remember to be afraid. Dreadfully difficult not to see a happy pup rolling and relaxing on its back, legs crooked and tongue lolling with every breath, hard not to see that where a tense and vicious wolf once prowled moments before. 

 

   Clarke felt the stone in her hand, fingers nagging at the rough edges, worrying the splintered flats. 

 

   She had picked it up when she was following the wolf- Lexa. One of the grounder guards had shoved Clarke after the wolf as it started to stalk out of the shambled collection of shakes and huts that was one of their villages. Clarke had glanced around, eyes darting for an exit, but a guttural growl from a pitch black wolf to her left shut down any ideas of fleeing, and the startling unsubtly draw of a whetstone over steel smashed any inkling of staying in the village. 

 

   Cool green eyes glanced over a furry shoulder, and they seemed to dare Clarke, mildly taunting. With a flick of a stiff ear, the wolf turned and didn’t look back. Clarke didn’t have a choice. She followed the Heda wolf.

   Clarke wasn’t sure if there was a difference between the two beings, woman and wolf. Their eyes were the same; deep, vibrant and an intent green. 

 

   She had planned to wait until the wolf had turned, and the houses fell away behind them. Until the razor-sharp teeth and claws were distracted. Then she was going to strike. Clarke was going to smash the jagged rock into the wolf’s snout, stun it. She was going to be fast, focused. 

 

   Clarke  _ was. _

   After ten minutes of walking, her feet painfully loud in the undergrowth compared to Heda’s agile stalk, Clarke had even taken a quick step forward with the intent to maim, heart pounding and feet fast over the fallen foliage of the forest floor. She was going to do it, hand raised. She was going to- then they had broken out from the forest's canopy and into a soft grassy clearing. The sun was momentarily blinding, view stunning. 

 

   Then the wolf changed. 

 

   It froze, nose lifted and scenting, body even tauter that before. And at that moment where Clarke was left stunned and blinking dumbly, the wolf changed. It went from sharp shoulders as it stalked, tightly coiled muscle and an air of pure danger. It went from eyes scanning every tree, tail stiff and pointed down. It went from _that,_ from the wolf, to something _softer_ _._

 

   Shaking out its fur until it spiked softly in all directions, the wolf had leapt forward, ignoring Clarke’s tensing at the sudden movement. It practically fell over itself, collapsing a little way into the sun-bathed spot. Paws scrambled as the wolf twisted on the soft floor, tail thumping solidly as it seemed to want to rub the fresh scent of spring grass into its pelt. 

 

   Over a furry shoulder, green eyes met Clarke’s, and she had felt drawn forward. Unable, maybe even unwilling to resist the pull. 

  
  
  
  


   That’s how Clarke found herself sat under the sun, a dosing wol-  _ Lexa--  _ it was Lexa now, all soft eyes and quiet breathing, lain sprawled and relaxed a few feet in front of her. She let the stone thunk to the floor, hands resting awkwardly on her legs. Clarke could almost reach out and touch the shaggy brown fur of Lexa’s hip. Clarke wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. But that was too familiar, too close.

 

   Instead, Clarke relaxed, back flush with the last towering pine before the forest gave way to grass. It was calming, being out in the wild with no, or very little, fear for her life. There were no water serpents, or Puma’s or Grounders ready to flay her. It was just peaceful. Peaceful in a way that she hadn’t experienced since before her father had been arrested. 

 

   She shifted quietly, aware of the dosing wolf’s ever twitching ears, and worked the heel of one shoe, slipping it off and working on the other one until she could flex her arch and toes into the soft soil. It was beautiful. So calm and quiet, unlike the ceaseless rumble of the Ark’s engines or the murmurs of a camp full of discontent teenagers. 

 

   She just felt protected.

 

   Clarke let her eyes close, the shafts of sunlight playing against her eyelids, painting them pink and grey in blotched, swirling patterns. Her skin was warm, the ground was thick with fallen needles, and somehow the bark behind her back was as comfortable as any bed she had slept on. Clarke caught a yawn before it could escape, teeth clenching shut as her jaw strained around the physical representation of her weariness. Not that she would ever admit it, but Clarke was so tired that the yawn made her heartbeat thump at the base of her skull and her ears pop.

 

   With the yawn weathered, Clarke couldn’t help but feel her muscles relax on the exhale, her brain went fuzzy in the cosiest way and toes flexing in the warm grass then…

  
  
  


  When Clarke awoke, it was to the moon hung high in the sky; the silver orb cut smoothly in half where it floated behind wispy trails of dull grey cloud. The stars were uncountable, unfathomable. They were scattered over every inch of blue-black, small things that were a beauty in and of themselves, but served the purpose of glorifying the heavenly deity of the night in her half-slumbering state. 

 

   Something warm was pressed Clarke's side, the heat contrasting with the cold air that gently chilled Clarke's exposed skin. She looked down, the darkness seeming bright and uninhibited as she distinguished one pointed burnt-caramel ear, the fluff of a tail and one paw covering the shining tip of a nose from the mass of shaggy fur that was curled up beside her.

 

   Lexa.

 

_ Heda. _

 

   Clarke stiffened, she couldn’t help it. One of her hands was engulfed somewhere in the centre of Lexa’s sleeping form, the steady thump of a heart against her skin made her tense and unconsciously flex her fingers, lightly burying them into thick fur. She huffed a sharp breath, air condensing in the moonlight like powdered silver that bellowed in a plume from between numb lips. She didn’t know what to do. Her legs and back ached and were numb; her toes were frozen, her side burned like a blazing fire was lit by it. 

 

   She was hot and cold, stoic and reluctantly melting as the visible ear twitched and flicked. She was panicked and frighteningly at ease beside the wolf, stone-hearted and endeared by the tightly curled form of Lexa’s lithe body and the way she used the paw laying across her nose to bat at a drop of dew that tickled it.

 

   Licking dry lips, Clarke started to wriggle her trapped fingers slowly, inching out centimetre by centimetre while trying not to startle the Heda wolf. She almost had her appendage free, but what she wasn’t counting on was Lexa’s reflexes. 

 

  No sooner had her skin broken contact with the soft fur than Lexa sprang to life with a snarl. From curled peacefully as a pup, to hackles up and growl rumbling like the Ark’s life-force under Clarke’s youthful ear in bygone years, Lexa was alert. Her head swung from left to right, piercing green eyes luminescent in the silver night light. He canines gleamed. Her legs bent and body low in front of Clarke. But she wasn’t looking at Clarke, she was looking somewhere else, over her shoulder?

 

  The blonde’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest, up her throat and out her mouth. It thundered in its best attempt to do so as she tried to scramble back from the wolf that seemed almost rabid compared to mere moments ago. Unfortunately, Clarke’s back was already flush with the tree, and she was trapped. 

 

   It didn’t take long after Clarke first stiffened and scrabbled for the wolf to turn those piercing, glowing eyes on her. Clarke gulped, a prayer floating urgently to whatever god might be listening to the last remnants of humanity that her death would be swift and she would be reunited with her father once more. Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stare death in the face.

 

   A second seemed like a week, a minute a year, and then there was a pitiful whine — a snuffling and then something dry and soft nudged Clarkes white-knuckled fingers. Clarke’s eyes sprung open, freezing at the sight of the wolf-  _ Lexa  _ on her stomach, paw stretched out and nose tentatively pressed to Clarke’s hand. Green eyes looked up from a softly curled and shaded face; her ears flattened back sadly. She pressed forward again, wiggling her nose under Clarke’s shock lax hand.

 

   “I- Are you-? What…” Clarke whispered lamely, somewhat scared to break the tentative peace that had settled over them. Lexa blew out a breath through her nose in a snorted laugh, wriggling closer with her hips, tail swaying across the fallen needles. Clarke watched in awe as startling green eyes ebbed under lids, tail gently stilling and chin resting on Clarke’s thigh. The human couldn’t help but curl her fingers, nails scraping lightly over what would be the bridge of Lexa’s nose. Lexa sighed, and Clarke repeated the itching motion, this time with a happy grumble as her reward.

 

   It was nearly impossible not to relax, if only slightly. Clarke let her fingers drift up, carding through long, soft lengths of fur, scratching at the base of an ear, tracing a thumb lightly over an eyelid. It was soothing, to say the least. It was repetitive and safe, and it made something in Clarke's chest settle, fear fleeing from her. Lexa pushed herself forward, pressing her face into Clarke's petting, and the human couldn’t help but melt a little.

 

   "You’re so beautiful,” Lexa blinked slowly, lazily in an almost sleepy manner that only proved to confirm what Clarke had murmured. It was strange, the beast laying beside her, all soft and gentle, it didn’t fit any of the tales she had been told. 

 

  “You know, I’ve heard stories of you. Of the fights you’ve fought and the people you’ve conquered. That woman you keep around, the one that scowls more than she breathes, she was very fond of telling me how many people you had killed.” Lexa stiffened, head snapping up to meet Clarke's bright blue gaze, green eyes somehow narrowing.

 

__ Clarke couldn’t help but wonder what Lexa’s voice sounded like, what she would be saying and how those words would roll off her tongue. Clarke had seen her in human form, straight-backed, shoulders square, jaw jutted out and eyes emotionless masks. She had heard Lexa grunt in answer to a few skittish questions from warriors, caught the almost inaudible whimper as her body ripped itself apart and reknitted on four legs. Clarke had heard the other Grounders speak, with harsh constants and clipped words, voices low and almost guttural. But is that how Lexa would speak? How she would whisper, or shout? 

 

   Clarke wished the thought could be fleeting, but it wasn’t. 

 

   Lexa’s huffy growl drew the human from her wondering, and she reached up (with a familiarity that surprised even herself) to rub one ear between finger and thumb. Smile softer than she intended on her lips.

 

   “I didn't let it get to me. I mean e ven before I met you, you terrified me. But I would have still fought you if needs be.” A grin pulled at Clarke’s lips as she ducked her head, abashed. “I would never admit that if you could talk right now. I’m not a very honest person, really, not since my dad. This…” She trailed off, fingers stilling as she tried to examine her feelings. “It’s something strange. Special.”

 

   The spark of fire in Lexa’s eyes didn’t leave, but she shoved her head back under Clarke’s hand with a small huff. Clarke wasn’t  _ entirely  _ forgiven, but she was graciously welcomed to continue her ministrations.

 

  There was a snap in the woods. Lexa stiffened again, eyes narrowing as she sprang to her feet, dislodging Clarke as she spun, nose pointed to the dark forests edge. Lexa’s growl turned deep, dangerous, as she took a tense step forward, massive paw quivering as it hovered momentarily before placing her weight into the move. Clarke felt her heart leap again, but this time Clarke could see Lexa within the wolf, not just the wolf, and her pulse settled as quickly as it spiked. Instead, Clarke’s attention, while not  _ entirely _ leaving Lexa as she stalked forward a few paces, nose scenting the air and body unnaturally still, turned to the eerie forest around them. 

 

  She didn’t see anything. 

 

  Lexa did.

 

  Without a sound the wolf was gone, leaving Clarke alone in the moon-bathed clearing. She stiffened in something that could be generously be called wariness, and could honestly be called fear. A twig snapped, fallen leaves were crushed under something’s foot. A bird hooted. Clarke was alone, defenceless, lost and surrounded. She gulped painfully as she dug her nails into the bark behind her to hoisted herself up. Her legs were numb, blood rushing back to them making them prickle and stab with shooting pains. For a moment she couldn’t walk, and she could only watch the shadowy night nervously, breathes painting the night air white.

 

   From somewhere to the left there was a sudden crunch of branches shattering, yelps and growls keening out from the darkness. A bark, a pained howl and Clarke feared for the worst, mind racing with gruesome scenarios. For some reason, her heart ached. All went deathly silent. A beat of unnatural stillness… and then four shapes darted from the bank of trees. 

 

   Three snow white wolves barreled across the dark grey-green clearing chased by a chestnut brown one- Lexa. Once they were in the meadow the three whites scattered, one sprinting for the far end, one spinning to confront Lexa, and one… one was charging straight for Clarke.

 

 


	2. Black Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief continuation of events.

     They clashed before Clarke, teeth vicious white in the moonlight, gums drawn back and pearly pink. Hackles up. Thoughts for Lexa, her shaggy dark coat electric with adrenaline, were quickly forgotten as Clarke found her own savage wolf streaking towards her. It took less than a heartbeat for her to scrambled around the tree, pulse racketing to pump blood and adrenaline around her body. 

 

    She remembered her mother teaching her about adrenaline, how it causes butterflies in your stomach and makes your hands shake with energy. How when confronted with something petrifying, your brain has three options when adrenaline enters the ring: Flight, fright or freeze.

    Clarke didn’t have three options; she only ever had one. 

 

    She fled.

    Her bare hands slapped against coarse bark as she tried to claw her way along faster. The ground was cold and hard under her feet, scraping and cutting her callous-less skin. She could hear the breathing behind her, the panting snarls and double beat of thundering paws. Clarke ran so fast that the towering trunks of trees blurred into an almost solid wall around her, her chest ached, breath like a fire that she sucked in desperately. 

 

    Growls hounded her; she could feel the hot, frothing breath on her heel. She didn’t dare look back, eyes desperately trained through the dark as she tried to weave through trees. But they were coming too fast, growing too thick. She had to dance, twirl in stumbling steps through the whippety saplings that struggled up beside the towering pines. But she wasn’t nimble, her muscles strained and weak. Her toes tangled in pine needles, thick swathes that coated the ground. She toppled forward, shoulders slamming into a trunk and-! 

 

    The ground rushed up to meet her in a tangle of unruly bracken and branches. The air was driven from her lungs; skin stripped away. She had a second to feel the needles, the bruising strength of rocks under her palms before it was on her.

 

    It mauled her feet first, claws ripping skin like knives through paper. Brutal tips gouged bone. Her cry pierced the wood, ringing through the night. It was hollow, dripping with a liquid agony as she kicked, thrashing as she tried to twist onto her back. The wolf was enormous, an ivory phantom that shoved Clarke’s shoulders into the earth beneath blood tipped feet. Aching blue eyes bore into dead black as the wolf’s lips curled, breath putrid, teeth sharp as it lunged.

 

    She got her hands up. Barely.

 

    Teeth pierced her, the flesh of her arm shred like sand under a foot in the face of a killer’s intent. She writhed, crying out on the floor, the seeping blood already blown cool on the night’s breeze. The pale shadow looming over her was ghastly, red splattered up its chest and eyes ebony in the moonlight, glinting. Her scream was lost to the bloodthirsty snarling as the wolf savaged at her. Like knives, its teeth slashed forward, claws scrabbling against her raised hands. Its paws felt like she was being beat at with sacks of earth. They bounded with insistence, fighting for meat and aiming for her throat. Sharp claw-tipped claws dug into her torso. It almost didn’t hurt, another wonder of adrenaline. Almost. But she still curled to defend herself, knees up defending her front and arms her face. She kicked inconsequently at the bony body on top of her. It didn’t help. 

   Somehow the wolf battered its way forward. Past Clarkes bloodied arms, through her meagre defences it lunged. Teeth re-pierced the flesh of her arm, she felt the bone chip and strain, the blood pouring as fast like quicksand. She felt teeth on her throat-

 

   Maybe it was bloodloss, perhaps it was dehydration, confusion, plain fear-induced haziness, but somehow, suddenly, the wolf just… wasn’t there. It was ripped away to leave the night air in its place. Clarke gasped, and the hulking, predatory weight crushing her was gone. Dazedly, biting back a pained whimper as she struggled up, Clarke sought for the nightmarish white among the black of the tree’s bark. 

 

    She expected it to be lurking, prowling, hunting. She had read the ancient books held so dear by her people, of how wolves liked to stalk and circle, of how they were deadly smart and fast. She had been expecting to see teeth glinting as she was taunted, but the only glint was of moon-silvered blood. There was no snowy white left. Red, the shade of death, seeped into the forest floor, the wolf’s corpse crumpled, gorged, devastated in the wake of-  

 

    The black wolf was only the drip of blood from a curved fang. It was barely-there steeped ears and two, two piercing, near luminescent green eyes that bore cooly into Clarke. It wasn’t Lexa, but it wasn’t  _ not _ her, either. It wasn’t safe, and searching looks and stargazing, but it almost was.

 

     Clarke was frozen, pinned. No energy left to flee, pain itching to take president over fear. Her breath was clipped and hoarse, ragged against the night air. It was the only sound to fill the wood. Dead silent. What an apt description. It was almost as if the black wolf, the thing made of shadows and emeralds, didn’t breathe at all, wasn’t fazed by the fight, and certainly not injured. But then, from a mere five paces away, that darkness, the black  _ black _ from the inkiest depths that was the wolf, seemed to grow deeper. Seemed to seep and soak and drip and then-

 

     Clarke moved. Just a twitch, just an unconscious sway in the silent breeze, and pain, breath-stealing, sight blurring, life-ending  _ pain  _ shot through her mangled arm. If she could breathe, if she could fight back the lump that could very well be vomit that clawed its way up her gullet, she would sob. As it was, she could only whimper, gasp. 

 

     That faint sound was enough, that faint movement was  _ enough _ . The black wolf took a step forward. Its lurking form moving into a beam of bright moonlight that had made its way through the canopy. It was no longer just bloodied fang and pointed ears in the deep darkness, and now it was a being, not a beast. One step. It took one step and faltered. Glowing green swirled and faded, draining away as did the invisible thing that held the wolf standing. Like a puppet slashed of its strings, the wolf took a step towards Clarke and crumpled. 

 

     A whine tore from its maw, those dull green eyes closed. Through blurry vision, Clarke watched as the wolf’s darkness seemed to seep into the forest floor, black spreading around it. Blood. 

 

    Clarke didn’t move. Didn’t  _ move.  _ In the darkness, in the night, she was frozen. Only then did she notice she was shaking, her fingers quivering where the dug into the earth, lips vibrating with every breath, and with every shudder. She was alone, attacker dead, saviour-  _ Lexa.  _ The thought rang true through her mind like a gong struck in panic.   _ Lexa.  _ It was Lexa just meters away, Lexa bleeding on the ground, Lexa who had  _ saved  _ Clarke. 

 

     Swallowing down the blood and spittle, Clarke stumbled, fumbled to get her knees under her, then her legs and feet. The world was spinning, trunks dancing, taunting around her. Her side was soaked, her pant leg stained, her arm and torso were sodden and sticky and sore and  _ stinging.  _ She couldn’t walk straight, couldn’t think straight or see straight. The pain in her arm was slowly spreading, throbbing its way into her shoulder and chest, aching in her bones. It was all-consuming, burning up her thoughts, turning her mind numb to anything but  _ pain,  _ and one thought: Lexa. 

 

     Her knees became reacquainted with the needle-thick ground as she stumbled to the unmoving wolf’s side. Her fingers quested into once fluffy, shaggy thickets of fur, but it was soaked, waterlogged with blood that stuck and clung to Clarke’s skin. Even in the dark, she could see the black dripping through the fur. She thought she would find the source of the blood, thought it would be a tear in the skin. But Clarke’s fingers didn’t touch skin, through the fur, they dipped in, and in, and in- it wasn’t a tear, half of Lexa’s shoulder was just  _ gone _ . 

 

    Clarke’s head span, warmth build acridly at the back of her throat as she snatched her hand away as if burned, bile building. 

 

_      So much blood.  _

 

     “No. No, no,  _ no.”  _ Clarke clumsily tried to press her palm to the wolfs wound, but it just swallowed her hand whole. She couldn’t compress it, couldn’t stop it. She could only feel as the thick, dark blood escaped. Breath coming fast, Clarke tried to find the  _ thump thump thump  _ of a heartbeat that would make everything just  _ okay _ . Just that beat, the knowledge that Lexa was still  _ breathing  _ would somehow fix the unfixable. Fix Lexa. Her hand slipped. Off the wolf,  _ Lexa,  _ she slipped and drove weakly into the icy ground. Jolts of pain wracked Clarke’s arm, crippling her at the waist as she bent with a breathless gasp riddled with a pain she couldn’t really express. Lexa’s damp fur brushed over Clarke’s face, tears dripping past tightly closed eyes to mix with blood and sweat.

 

     This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t. She couldn’t. No.  _ No.  _ The coat moved against her skin. She couldn’t tell what blood was hers, and what was Lexa’s.

 

     She felt the ribs beneath her stutter weakly. Slowly. It seemed inevitable, as every shallow breath Lexa took shook. The end seemed… gods, there was so much  _ blood  _ that it seemed impossible that anything but death was stalking the night. She could do nothing.

 

     There was a whine beneath her, a weak shift of powerful legs as they kicked and scrabbled uselessly against the forest floor. Paws padded against Clarke’s bent leg, head lifting off the floor, green eyes dull until the alit on Clarke, on her damp face, blood-drenched clothes visible even under the moon, limp arm gouged and weeping. Green flared, burning and confusion clearing as she tried to heave onto all fours.

 

     Clarke staggered up, breath catching as she helplessly watched the wolf struggle, standing for a second and then-

 

    Clarke lunged, catching the furry body and trying to ease her to the floor. She keeled over, cry breaking from her lips as she tried to wrap Lexa close to her chest. It didn’t work, of course, it didn’t, Lexa was the size of a small horse. They both fell, knees driving into the undergrowth, wolf cradled half in Clarke’s lap. She used her good arm to soothe the fur away from the whining wolf, cooing frantically, desperately. She didn’t know what to do, couldn’t think, could hardly breathe.

 

    “Oh, oh, sh. Sh, sh. It’s okay. This is going to be alright. Promise. Sh.” Lexa distinctly disagreed, eyes rolling as she panted, “no, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay-” she devolved into repetition, eyes clamped shut as she rocked them back and forth. Clarke had survived so much. She had done so much. And yet she had done nothing at all. Her life had been boxes and stale air, it had been a second of flourishing life under the green light of the trees. Her life had been prison and freedom and prison again. Her life had been life, and death - fire burning at the dropships shell and the dew on a single flower at dawn. It had been cool river water and the hot bubble of adrenaline. It had been captivity and freedom, and it was all  _ over. _

 

    The silence of the trees, night’s deathly silence was broken by a slowly growing rustle of leaves and needles. Clarke didn’t see Lexa’s ears perk up, or head sway to look into the night. Clarke couldn’t breathe. Her hands shook, goosebumps shivering over her skin as she cooled, as her blood cooled, as her breath cooled. She was so cold.

 

    It was hard to tell when the darkness of Clarke’s vision was the night, or something more. Darkness crept in, more than night, unconsciousness. It was hard to tell, but when Lexa started to fade, and her heart started to echo in her chest, she knew the difference. Her head bowed, bobbed weakly.

 

    Blurry eyes, a weak whine and Lexa’s damp nose, nuzzled into Clarke's bloodsoaked shirt; worried, attentive,  _ exhausted.  _

 

    Clarke slumped on the floor. She cradled the wolf to herself as numbness began to spread through her. 

 

    The rustling grew louder, enough so that even Clarke could hear it. Something was close, feet in the undergrowth, hushed voices still distant. But that couldn’t rouse her even when she knew that it could be the enemy.

 

    She knew it, and yet the cold of darkness was far too tempting.

 

    Clarke went limp. Bent over Lexa. Face pressed to fur.

  
  
  


    But while the darkness washed over Clarke like a sea slick with oil, Lexa struggled for alertness. Ears pricked, eyes retreating behind lids before being forced back open. The sounds were coming closer, and she could see the stalk of four and two legs through the towering straight trunks. A growl built at the back of her throat, clawing its way up until it sat on her tongue, ready to snap. Her blood, Clarke’s, the Azgeda scout’s- it swirled like a sickly cocktail, as appealing as a rotting corpse and just as insistent. 

 

    She couldn’t smell anything over that stench.

 

    Yet those shadows grew near, words stifled and harsh and… and familiar. Green eyes fluttered, shuttering as the shape of heads and shoulders, pointed ears and spear tips emerged from the shadows, the moonbeams revealing Indra’s glittering eyes followed by Heda’s guard. Lexa felt the tension around her ribs loosen as familiar voices grunted out orders and familiar scents curled around her. Unconsciousness was like a friend, its gentle grasp pulling her insistently to a place she knew was safe, where she could rest in under the eye of her people. 

 

    She felt her breathing even out, felt the pain  _ truly  _ set in as it rippled over her frame and just as she was about to drift away-

 

    Someone pulled Clarke away.

 

    Emerald eyes snapped open, luminescent in the night. The darkness of her fur grew thick and heavy like it was made of tar and blood-stained teeth flashed like knives in fire-light. She didn’t have control as her jaw clenched around one of the guard’s forearms- no control over the beast in her as blood spurted and bone creaked. The furious rumble in her chest was like a boiling sky, a pitch fire that burned foreign through her veins as she curled around Clarke, her fair-haired mate. Lexa was gone now, now the wolf was awake.

 

    It sensed the people around her flinch back as she felt blood spurt from the guard, heard the pained gasp of the one she had pinned. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered save for protecting the fading life leaning on her. Nothing mattered. Nothing but-

 

    A scent more familiar than any Lexa could remember appeared. Not the ashy, earthy scents of Indra, not the woodland one of her guard. Black trickle and blood, sweat with a hint of smoke. 

 

    Anya.

 

    Anya approached slowly. The wolf could tell it was slow from the steady crunch of pine needles, the scuffle of earth. There was nothing urgent, nothing that spoke of purpose. Nothing that spoke of  _ threat.  _ She was obviously under the effect of blood loss to be so foolish. Anya was never unthreatening. Never anything less than precise and poised.

 

    She walked, on all fours, ears up, head proud and eyes soft, into Lexa’s line of sight. And kept going, circling, almost as if she made herself known, enough to assure Lexa’s wolf. Just barely.

 

    The wolf eyed Anya wearily. It was odd, this feeling of seeing, of being, but not. Her body wasn’t her own, the wolf in full control as the human lingered on unconsciousness’ door, fighting to even be a spectator. As such, through a hazy grey, Lexa saw as Anya struck.

 

    Sharp jaws closed around Lexa’s neck, teeth pinching at her skin. Anya’s hard weight pressed her down, forcing her to submit.

 

    The guard’s startled grunts echoed loud in the night, the sounds of swords being drawn like the cold slither of steel on stone. What sounded like Indra snarled in a vicious, outraged way, but Anya’s chest rumbled like an earthquake, unquestionable and powerful. It was the same sound Lexa remembered from when she was a cub, alone and in a towering new city. 

 

    In a way, it was comforting, a glimpse at a simpler, safe past. But that past was just as hard, just as blood-soaked, and taught her not to trust anything. She fought against it, her pride unwilling to bend to her old protector. She was better, stronger and had more responsibility than it was possible to comprehend, and she could  _ not  _ be outmatched. She could not  _ afford  _ to be, not now.

 

    Clarke whimpered. 

 

    Lexa’s eyes shot to the blonde’s contorted face, seeing the blood, both black and red, staining skin. A whine built piteously in Lexa’s throat, a sound of desperation and despair. She had to do something, she had to protect, she had to cherish and nurture and  _ protect.  _ Anya growled again, but it was quieted, private, just for Lexa-  _ It’s okay, yong won, it is okay. Let go, just let go.  _ And it was so tempting, a promise of care and shelter from the pain. And it was Anya, her (first), her friend and caretaker and teacher. Something about her scent, her familiarity, her scene of safety… it was enough. 

 

    Lexa’s will bent, splintering wetly as the blood she was soaked in, and Anya’s soothing scent proved too much for her little strength. Lexa collapsed. She gave in, let her jaw relax, let the guard scramble from her grasp, and she curled closer to the ground. 

 

    As coldness crept over her, Lexa felt the warmth of Clarke being dragged away. She was left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've decided that the main story (and I use that word loosely, I assure you) I'll add it to Her With Those Green Eyes, and for any extra bits within the universe, I'll add it to the series. 
> 
> I kinda feel like I'll rewrite bits from different POV's sometimes that might give insight etc. But also might not. It's all just for fun, ya know?
> 
> Anywho! Thank you all for the lovely comments and the kudos, it was a huge encouragement to continue writing this. It was only meant to be a little scribble, but I kinda have a plot now, and now I'm not sure what to do with it... well apart from writing it (and then rewrite it bc tbh it'll need some serious structural work and continuity work).
> 
> Right then, I hope everyone has a fantastic week and happy Halloween!

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I scrawled in a hospital car park. It wasn't a fun trip, but then they rarely are when doctors are involved. Don't worry, I still have my fingers, aka the most crucial body part. Those who think differently can kindly find a short pier for your next long walk. 
> 
> Good day. 
> 
> I said 'good day' sir!
> 
> (I tried to fiddle with some tenses at the beginning but I'm not 100% sure how that turned out for someone who didn't know what I was trying to say, so if you could let me know, that would be awesome! Also, the 'mates' idea is very subtle, so I have no doubt you missed it, but I hope to tie it in/make it clear/make it visible at all at a later date...) 
> 
> Positive feedback would be swell, and prompts would be cool. But if you just can't be asked, I wish you guys all the best! 
> 
> Good day!


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